Your bestie,

Mya

Subject: Re: It has to be at least nine inches... (At least)

You delete these emails, right? LOL I’ll take your word for the nine inches. I’m sure he didn’t earn his former playboy reputation for nothing...

Maybe you can give him a huge kick in his nine-inch cock before quitting?

Stay focused on leaving + start limiting these emails that complement him and his cock. (Otherwise, you may start to subconsciously believe that you should stay there. O_o).

Your bestie,

Amy

THE ASSISTANT

Mya

Manhattan, New York

I couldn’t believe that Mr. Leighton had the audacity to offer me an extended contract after the way he treated me, couldn’t believe that he’d included a mention of it in every one of his emails since the day he brought it up.

As I stared outside my town car window, I decided that I needed to tell him that I really was looking for another place of work. That it wasn’t personal, but I wanted to go someplace where I’d actually be appreciated.

And somewhere where he won’t be such a distraction...

The second the driver pulled in front of Leighton Publishing, my phone buzzed with his usual morning email.

Subject: What I Need Today.

Coffee. Stephen King’s new book. Reports for the two o’clock meeting. Your signature on the employment extension contract.

You’re welcome.

Michael Leighton

CEO, Leighton Publishing

I sighed. I’d done my best to avoid that last line on all of his task requests, simply not addressing it via email or simply saying “I need more time to think about it,” if he brought it up during one of our meetings. And even though the sexual tension between us was at the highest levels it’d ever been, I couldn’t afford to let that cloud my judgment.

His overbearing sexiness was not a good enough reason to stay, and the odds of us having sex were slim to none. (Not that having sex with him was a good enough reason to stay either.)

After securing a copy of Stephen King’s newest book from Barnes & Noble and a cup of his favorite expensive coffee, I rushed inside the building and headed right up to his office.

I knocked against his door five times and waited for his familiar, “Yes?” before opening the door.

The second I stepped inside, I felt his deep brown eyes watching my every move, and I tried not to make eye contact as I walked over and set the book and the coffee on his desk.

“Is there something on your mind, Miss London?” He waited for me to look at him, and I finally gave in. “Any particular reason why you’re currently mumbling?”

“No, Mr. Leighton. It’s just—” I decided to be honest, to finally get this over with. “I’m not interested in signing the extension contract.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Are you referring to right now, or ever?”

“Ever.” I stepped back, waiting for his reaction, but there wasn’t one. His face remained stoic and he simply picked up his coffee and took a long sip.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Thank you for telling me. After you settle into your office, I need you pick up my dry cleaning from Midtown. There should be fifteen suits and twenty shirts in my name.”

What the hell? “Would you like me to pick up anything else?”

“Not at all.”

I forced a smile and headed toward the door. “Thank you for being understanding about the contract, Mr. Leighton.”

“Anytime, Miss London.”

I left his office and took the steps to my own, quickly printing out the two o’clock reports so I could save time since I had a new dry cleaning mission. As I was stapling the first set of sheets together, my phone buzzed with a new email from him.

Subject: Something Else I Need Today.

My Jaguar needs to be washed. Take it to the place I like in New Jersey, ten miles across the bridge.

Michael Leighton

CEO, Leighton Publishing

Is he being serious?

I dropped my reports to the floor, barely getting a chance to reread the message to see if my eyes were playing tricks or me or not, because he sent me another email.

Subject: And Also...

I forgot to pick up a particular watch I ordered weeks ago on my way to work this morning. You’ll need to stand in line at Audemars Piguet on 57th Street by noon to ensure that I receive it today.

Michael Leighton

CEO, Leighton Publishing

I slammed my door shut to prevent myself from screaming. I paced the floor a few times before responding to him with a curt “Ok.” Then I headed down to the private parking garage.

I took the keys from the lockbox and tried my best not to think about using them to leave major scratches against his car, and I quickly slid behind the wheel. Instead of immediately heading toward the dry cleaners I took his Jaguar for a half hour joyride first.

I took my time driving through the city streets, stopping for ten-dollar coffee and charging five cups worth to his card every time. I spotted a beautiful cashmere scarf through a window dressing at Macy’s and rushed inside to buy it in all twenty-five colors. On my way out, I noticed a new line of fashion at the nearby lingerie store, so I took his precious credit card and purchased ten matching sets of overly priced panties and bras.

Screw him...

Still feeling reckless and far less professional than I’d ever felt in my life, I picked up his dry cleaning and tossed it in the back seat. I drove across the George Washington Bridge and sat in the back of a café for half an hour.